


don't worry about me

by aliatori



Series: Ali's 100 Ways Challenge [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Possessive Behavior, mild abuse of Lucian magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 15:44:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15318783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori/pseuds/aliatori
Summary: Gladio has a hard day of training. Nyx is there to help.





	don't worry about me

**Author's Note:**

> as requested by my benevolent Gladnyx anon on Tumblr for the 100 Ways Challenge, who also provided the scenario!

**[G. Amicitia 14:22]:** be out in a few

‘A few’ has turned into over half an hour of Nyx waiting off to the side of the training room, still in uniform, arms folded across his chest and back against the wall. He grabs his phone from his pocket and swipes the screen to activate it, but there are no new messages, so he puts it away and sighs quietly.

“You on or off duty, Ulric? Can’t tell with you,” Tredd quips on his way past Nyx, towel draped over his shoulders and hair damp.

“Fuck you, Tredd,” Nyx responds with saccharine cheer. He forces a smile by imagining how satisfying it would be to pop the arrogant shithead right in his stupid face.

Tredd laughs, unfazed, and disappears through the double doors after giving Nyx the middle finger. He’s watched several members of the ‘Guard and the ‘Glaive circulate through the training room, but now it’s just him, waiting for Gladio.

It’s not like Gladio to go radio silent. Both of them have hectic schedules on the best weeks and downright impossible ones on the worst. Texts are easy enough, though; Nyx wonders if he should start the long trek back to his apartment, since something unexpected has clearly come up.

As he’s checking his phone one last time, just in case, doors in the opposite corner of the training room open to reveal Gladio. By the time Gladio takes two laborious, slow steps, Nyx has his jaw clenched and fists balled, his leather gloves creaking with the force of it.

Gladio’s _hurt_.

Nyx knows the limp of someone who’s had the shit beaten out of them—Six, he’s walked it enough times himself—but he’s never seen it from Gladio. Sure, he’s watched the guy take out six sparring partners in a row and be a little sore after, or clear an obstacle course with a twisted ankle and laugh about it, but not walk like every movement is gonna be his last. Anger boils in the pit of Nyx’s stomach and steams through his veins—what the _fuck_ had they done to him?

Private Shield training his ass.

“Hey.” Gladio frowns at some invisible pain, contorting the long, fresh scar that bisects his left eye. His lips twist in a matching grimace. 

Nyx considers moving closer and giving Gladio a shoulder to lean on, but he’s also well aware of Gladio’s (sometimes misplaced) sense of pride, so he settles for cocking his head and raising an eyebrow. “They got you good today, huh?”

“Simulated interrogation. Could use a few more potions, but I’ll live,” Gladio says through gritted teeth.

That does it. Nyx’s anger morphs into a rage he can barely contain. He takes several deep breaths and tries to remind himself that this is Gladio’s job, that he needs to be tough, that he’s strong and he can take anything they throw at him.

It doesn’t help much. At the end of the day, he’s still Nyx’s boyfriend, and he’s allowed to be a little protective. A little possessive. A lot pissed.

“You’re in no shape to go anywhere,” Nyx comments, trying to sound casual and missing the mark entirely.

Gladio exhales, wincing as he does. “Yeah… I think I gotta cancel tonight.”

“Who said anything about canceling?” Nyx asks, the words quick and sharp. “I’m not wasting a night off.”

“I’m just gonna crash in my rooms here. It’ll be a boring night.”

 _I don’t care_ , Nyx thinks. “It’s fine,” he says instead, wrestling his anger down long enough to reach out and run a hand along Gladio’s upper arm in a quick caress. “I don’t guess you’d let me help you there?”

“I can manage fine on my own,” Gladio says, but he places a broad, warm hand over Nyx’s own and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry about me.” The touch proves about as effective as a single bucket of water against the searing inferno of his anger, but Nyx nods and lets go of Gladio’s arm anyway.

He convinces Gladio to forgo their traditional race up seven million flights of stairs, which is usually how they make their way to his quarters at the Citadel. Nyx almost wishes he’d let him do it—anything to vent the pressure building inside his body. By the time they approach Gladio’s room, Nyx itches to tear his Crownsguard issued tracksuit off, to see what injuries he’s hiding, to catalogue each and every one of them with eyes and hands and lips and teeth.

“You okay?” Gladio asks as he unlocks the door, eyes narrowed. “You’re staring.”

Hold it together, Ulric. Be good. Well, as good as you get, anyway. Nyx opts for a different tactic. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Go through literal torture and have the fuckin’ gall to ask me if _I’m_ the one who’s okay?” Nyx fires back, grinning in what he hopes is a cocksure way.

That makes Gladio laugh, though the last part of it comes out in a wheeze, and his blood boils a little less intensely for a moment. “You know me. Amicitia born and bred. Duty before self.”

Nyx does know. He knows it as sure as he knows that he was born in Galahd, that he lives and serves in a Lucis at war, that there’s no berth given for softness and sentimentality in the space between those two facts.

Lucky for both of them, he’s not feeling particularly soft at the moment.

As soon as Gladio shuts and locks the door behind him, Nyx pounces. He fists his hands in Gladio’s hair and drags him down into a searing kiss. Gladio groans into the kiss—there’s hints of copper and iron along the wet heat of Gladio’s tongue—and slides his big hands down Nyx’s back, grabbing both asscheeks hard enough to hurt. The pain and the lingering taste of blood only drive Nyx’s fury higher. It’s not rational, but he’s equal parts pissed and proud about the whole ordeal; the end result creates an aching, urgent need to claim Gladio, to remind him that he doesn’t just belong to the Lucian kingdom.

He also belongs to Nyx.

A thin filament of saliva stretches and snaps as they pull apart. Gladio’s warm amber eyes are glassy, hazy, and Nyx isn’t sure if it’s from discomfort or desire or a combination of the two. Nyx keeps one hand buried in Gladio’s hair and cups his cheek with the other. “You with me, gorgeous? This okay?”

Gladio meets Nyx’s eyes and nods. “I’m good.”

“Can you get your clothes off?” Nyx asks, standing on his toes and mouthing a kiss against Gladio’s neck. “I need to see you,” he adds, voice strained and hoarse. He’s not quite at the point of begging, but he’s teetering on the damn edge.

“It ain’t pretty,” Gladio says absently, baring his neck and shoulder to Nyx’s persistent lips and giving a little sigh when he nips at Gladio’s ear.

“I’ll be the judge of that. Might even be able to help if you’ll let me.”

“Since when have I turned down your help?”

“Since always, you big, stubborn asshole,” Nyx replies, pressing his lips to Gladio’s again to taste the salt and iron on his skin. “Must have taken a few good blows to the head today too.”

Gladio takes several deep, long breaths before resting his forehead against Nyx’s, his hands lingering at the small of Nyx’s back. “How do you get away with being such a rude son of a bitch?”

“Because I’m a _charming, talented_ , rude son of a bitch whose company you enjoy, understandably,” Nyx says, flashing a grin that fades under a fresh efflux of anger. “Please, let me see, Gladio.”

Gladio has enough energy to smirk at Nyx as he pulls away. The smirk melts when Gladio reaches behind his head to pull off his hoodie, eyes pinched closed; a hiss escapes him when he whips sweater and tank over his head together with one jerky motion.

Nyx’s prior anger may as well be a match next to a bonfire as his gaze roves over Gladio’s body.

Bruises mottle his tanned skin, fanning out across his muscles in morbid splotches of colour. There are a few angry, red gashes—knife wounds?—that Nyx would bet were a lot worse before Gladio cracked a potion. Faded welts encircle his wrists and one particularly large, purpled patch around his stomach seems better suited for a foot instead of a fist.

“Fucking Six,” Nyx says flatly.

“Told you.” Gladio toes off his shoes and tugs down his sweats, kicking them into a little pile with his shirt and hoodie. Aside from welts around his ankles that match the ones at his wrists, his legs are free of visible marks; Nyx sends a quick prayer up to the Astrals for the blessing, because he doesn’t know if he’d be able to contain himself if the bottom half was as bad as the top.

“Bed.” Nyx points for emphasis. Normally, he’d have something different in mind in this scenario, the one where he orders Gladio to bed in nothing but his boxer briefs, but he needs to calm the possessive fury boiling him alive.

“Just take it easy on me today,” Gladio says as he limps his way over to the bed.

Nyx watches with a hungry, pointed gaze as Gladio settles back with a grunt, propped up on his elbows and locking his eyes with Nyx. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Try, then.”

Nyx strips out of his uniform and down to his underwear in record time. He doesn’t know what his plan is, doesn’t know how far this is going to go, but he knows he needs his skin against Gladio’s, needs to feel the warmth and heat he radiates, needs reassurance that he’s alive and okay. Gladio spreads his thighs by instinct as Nyx crawls into bed with him, slotting himself between Gladio’s legs like he belongs there.

“You’re so fucking strong,” Nyx breathes, fingertips mapping the bruises that cover Gladio’s torso, tilting his chin up to look into Gladio’s eyes. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I do,” Gladio says, sucking his lower lip between his teeth as Nyx applies pressure to the injury under his fingers.

“So good,” Nyx says, leaning forward and kissing Gladio at the same time as he calls on the magic of kings. Gladio inhales sharply through his nose as Nyx threads a trickle of healing into him—he’s exhausted from his own training, so it’s not nearly enough to fix all the scrapes and bruises. The inhale softens to a relieved groan as Nyx puts a little more effort into the magic, kisses Gladio a little harder, and then digs his fingers into Gladio’s skin.

Gladio’s back arches off the bed, eyes shut tight. He grips one of Nyx’s shoulders with a hand, hard enough to give Nyx a line of circular bruises of his own. “Nyx,” he grinds out, chest heaving, and the desperation and desire Gladio pours into his name _finally_ starts to ease the rotten, roiling anger he’s held since the training room.

“You belong to Lucis first,” Nyx starts, kissing down Gladio’s neck until he reaches his collarbone. “But you belong to me second, gorgeous, and I know you can take anything I have to give.” He traces Gladio’s clavicle with his tongue until he reaches a faded mark on his pec. Once he does, he bites down, sinking his teeth in with nearly enough force to break the skin.

Gladio bellows out a protest, loud and sudden, but he doesn’t push Nyx away. Instead, he sinks to his back, knees drawn up towards his chest, and holds onto Nyx as tight as he can.

“Tell me you can take it,” Nyx says, dark and wanting, “that you want to take it.”

“Fuck, of course I can take it, I need it.” Gladio’s hair fans out over the royal black of his pillow, his eyes shut, but the need in his voice starts to unravel Nyx at the seams. “I’m yours too, please, _remind me_.” 

Nyx delivers.

He marks out every bruise and cut and scrape and welt until Gladio shakes with every touch, until he’s half hard and pressing against Nyx’s thighs. He bites and sucks and scratches new marks over all the old ones along Gladio’s muscular chest and arms and stomach, claiming each and every one of them as his own. Each mark he takes back cools his blood, settles his nerves, and locks away his temper once more. Nyx works his way down Gladio’s body until he can kiss the insides of his powerful thighs.

“So good for king, for country, for me,” Nyx mouths against the bulge in Gladio’s underwear. He wants more, wants to replace pain with pleasure, want Gladio to come completely undone underneath him. “Can you take more?” he asks, tonguing at the head of Gladio’s cock through the fabric.

Gladio mutters something unintelligible that Nyx thinks is a ‘yes’ or a ‘please’ or some other affirmation. He rolls his hips upward towards Nyx’s tongue and lips, silently pleading in a way that’s all too familiar, but Nyx still needs to hear it for himself.

“Say it, Gladio.”

“ _More._ ”

A shift, a slide, and two tugs of fabric later, Nyx lays atop Gladio. He holds their cocks together, both slick with precome, and gently ruts back and forth, each rock of his hips building a different ache inside him. Nyx can’t take his eyes off Gladio as they move together; Gladio’s cheeks are flushed, his fists balled in the sheets of his bed, lips parted as he pants openly. He takes everything Nyx has to give him, always, and this is no exception, this climb towards a release they both desperately need.

Compared to the groaning and grunting during Nyx’s reclamation of the injuries he endured, the choked off sound Gladio makes as he comes barely registers to Nyx’s hearing. What _does_ get his attention is the sudden flood of sticky wetness that coats his hand and cock as Gladio spends in his grip, body tense as steel and cock pulsing.

Nyx shudders and, with a couple more thrusts, follows him, adding his own release to the mess they’ve made. It’s feels good, _so_ fucking good, that he can’t stop the quiet laugh that escapes him. All the tension and fury has bled out of him, replaced with pleasure and pride in the man beneath him.

“You’re absolutely fucking perfect,” Nyx says, bending down and kissing the hollow of Gladio’s throat.

“That’s what you always say after you come,” Gladio rumbles.

Nyx laughs. “Only when it’s really good.”

“It’s _always_ really good with me,” Gladio shoots back. His grin is confident and open, most traces of his earlier pain gone.

Nyx smiles knowingly. “Yeah. It is.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated if you enjoyed. <3
> 
> Come find me over on [Tumblr](http://aliatori.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/AliatoriEra).


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